I explained my plan to Richard but got no response. He was asleep with the bloody flannel pressed to the side of his head.
The clock on my dashboard said that it was four in the morning. The whole encounter had taken about five hours.
I turned off the engine about a half-mile from the airport. My piston-powered airplane became an overweight glider.
My flight instructor’s voice invaded my head. “You can gain speed by losing altitude or maintain altitude by losing speed. The trick is to start your glide at the correct height and distance from the runway.” I was hoping that I started high enough.
Richard woke up when the engine stopped.
“Holy shit, di engine stop. We going to die?”
“Not yet, Richard, I won’t kill you, not today.”
The ground beneath us was littered with stumps, tree trunks, and construction equipment. The airport, it seemed, was in the process of extending the runway. We would die for sure if we landed short.
The end of the runway was still three hundred feet away. I had my hand on the ignition key ready to start the engine if needed. I wanted to land undetected, but that was less important than landing safely.
Our speed dropped too quickly, so I lowered the nose to increase speed, but that cost me altitude. Finally, the gods of aviation took pity on me. My seat of the pants calculations worked. We flew over the airport fence with less than a dozen feet to spare and landed on the first few yards of asphalt.
The moonlight shining into the cabin reflected off Richard’s wide grin. “You da man! You da man!” he said for the third and fourth time that night.
I had no snappy comeback. I sat there without talking and waited until my knees stopped shaking.
I found a bottle of water, purchased three days earlier, tucked behind the passenger seat. It was warm, but I didn’t care. I needed every drop. It calmed me. I took a deep breath then started the engine and turned on all lights and radios.
“Philly ATC this is Cessna N-two-three-five-tango at Millsboro airport requesting transit through your area en route to Gaithersburg, Maryland.”
“Roger, Cessna, permission granted. Climb and maintain 2000 feet direct flight granted.”
The airways were empty that morning. The moon, edging towards the horizon provided a silver highway as we crossed the Delaware Bay.
A friendly female voice from Baltimore ATC took over when we crossed into Maryland, and she vectored me directly over BWI airport — something that would never happen during daylight hours. I saw only one or two baggage carts moving on the tarmac.
My feelings on the return trip were in stark opposition to my euphoria on the eastward flight. No longer the king of the air, I was a wet, tired, and bruised assistant drug transporter. I wanted to fly and make money doing it, but three murders and an illegal landing were too much.
We landed without incident and taxied to my previous spot on the apron. “Richard, we’re down.” I shook my passenger awake.
“Yah, mon, dats good,” he said in a very groggy voice. I half-carried him again, this time to the passenger seat of his car and went back to get the three bags and my computer case.
When I got back to the car, Richard was snoring. He smelled of gunpowder, blood, and gasoline. I realized that I must smell the same way or worse. Once we were on the road, the open window revived him. “Where we going?”
“I’m taking you to a hospital.”
“No way mon, hospitals, dem ask too many questions. How me a go explain dis?” he said pointing to his head.
He was right. I shook my head and tuned the radio to a local station. The announcer let us know that it was five a.m. and that the rain the previous night had measured a welcome half inch. There were no reports of traffic tie-ups on the roads. “It’s Wednesday, hump day,” he proclaimed, “have a humpy day.”
Back at the Marriott, I parked far away from the entrance and reluctantly gave Richard the car keys.
“Daniel, I can’t drive you to work today,” he said.
My God, work! I had forgotten all about it.
“Look” he continued, “you take the bags. Half the money is yours. Hold onto mi money and di blow, and I’ll link you when I get better. You did great, mon.”
He opened the cocaine stash and extracted a handful of the packets to refill his pockets before handing the duffle to me with one hand and two packets with the other. “Dem two ah fe you. Dat’ll help you get through wid di day.” I had to help him stand.
“Richard, are you okay to drive?” The blood had turned his shirt into crimson cardboard. When he moved, the shirt cracked and little flecks of dried blood fell to the ground.
“Mi alright,” he said as he got behind the wheel.
I was about to close the door, but Richard stopped me. He found a pencil and one of his business cards. He wrote something on the back and handed it to me. It had the name “Ronnie” followed by a post office box address and phone number. One corner was embossed with Richard’s bloody thumbprint.
“Dis ah my sista inna Kingston. If something happens to me, get rid ah di blow and give her my share.” I nodded and put his card in my wallet. I was ready to go, but he grabbed my arm. ’Member Daniel, money come and go but family ah di most important thing. Take care ah you family.” Then he drove away.
I dragged my new luggage into the hotel just as the sun emerged over the horizon.
Chapter 8
Dan’s Fortune
The mirrored elevator door reflected the rigors of my long night. There were holes in the knees of my pants, and my cuffs were torn. The black, nylon flying jacket that my wife gave me for my last birthday was now a wet rag. Any article of clothing still intact was soaked — from without by the rain and from within by my perspiration. I only hoped I could salvage my muddy shoes.
All my clothes, even my underwear, went into a plastic laundry bag for later disposal. The shower washed off the brown New Jersey mud. Next, a mixture of blood, both pheasant, and human, turned the water a pale pink. Finally, my sphincter muscles released an internal flood adding a yellow hue to the spiral as it headed for the drain.
If only the water would wash away my memories. The man I hit with my hammer haunted me. Why did I hit him a second time? If Richard had not administered his coup de grace and the man had survived, he would be horribly maimed for life. I was a murderer.
I tried to reason that it was in self-defense. But I knew, deep down, that there was something else in play. Some dark part of my psyche, a part that I had suppressed for four decades, emerged and delivered the blows. In so many ways it was an act of revenge, not at my assailant, but in retaliation for incidents in my childhood. The Christmas parties I wasn’t invited to because I was Jewish. Bam! The girls who didn’t return my phone calls. Bam! My mother’s indifference. Bam! Bam! Bam!
Maybe I was an outlaw? If I’m an outlaw, the usual rules don’t apply to me. I killed a man with a hammer. I violated FAA rules. I’m hiding stolen money and drugs.
Even after rinsing and repeating twice, the smell of burning bodies stayed in my hair.
I dressed in spare clothes and wrote a list of things I had to do. First and foremost, I had to find a way to secure the bags of money and drugs. Second, I had to make sure Richard was all right. At the bottom of the list was “contact Richard’s sister.” I looked at the last item then crossed it out.
I tried to leave the room and get breakfast before going to work, but the duffle bags blocked my way. They blocked the hallway leading to the door like uninvited guests at a wedding party.
I had no idea how to deal with the bag containing the gun and drugs, so I consigned it, unopened, to the bottom of the closet.
In spite of my growling stomach, I spilled the contents of the money bags onto the bed and separated the hundred-dollar bills from the singles, then I counted and re-bagged the mess. I did the same with the bag holding only hundred-dollar bills.
All told, there was just under $620,000 in cash. Half of it was mi
ne. It was enough to fund my family comfortably for six or eight years. Maybe longer if I invested it wisely.
I didn’t consider the value of the cocaine. That was going back to Richard untouched and as soon as possible. I was scared of the drugs. I could almost smell them. They were bait. I knew that they would attract people who would do anything to get them.
I stacked the money bags on top of the cocaine in the closet and closed the door. Walking to the elevator, I realized that I was so naive. The previous evening I’d risked my life for forty of those hundred-dollar bills. Now the hotel closet sequestered three hundred times that amount, plus a fortune in cocaine. I had to come up with a plan.
The elevator was empty when I got on. When it stopped at the second floor, Maria entered, and the analytical part of my brain went on vacation.
She was dressed in black, tailored slacks and a short-sleeved, purple blouse, looking every bit the successful businesswoman in casual attire. She wore her beautiful, jet black hair pulled back in a neat bun. I could see that it was secured with an antique-looking silver clip adding an exotic element to her appearance.
She smiled and said, “Hello Dan, are you ready for another day of teaching? You look a little tired.” Unconsciously, I passed my hand through my hair with one hand and surreptitiously checked my fly with the other.
“Morning, Maria. Yes, I think I’m ready. I’m a little tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Why’s that,” she asked with a smile.
“I had to fly a friend to New Jersey. A storm came through, and we had to wait until it dissipated. We got back late.” I realized that I was babbling. I hadn’t felt this nervous talking to a woman since high school.
We stood there, about three feet apart, watching the elevator doors close. We didn’t say anything else. I felt a magnetic force pulling me to her. All my plans, all the urgency I felt a few minutes ago, evaporated. I wanted to get closer but didn’t dare.
We joined the line of guests waiting for tables at the restaurant. When the hostess asked, “Are you two together?” Maria took control and said, “Yes.”
I ordered a three-egg omelet, bacon, hash brown potatoes and extra toast. Maria was content with one poached egg and a bowl of cut fruit. After my first substantial bites, I asked, “What did you do last night?”
“It was very boring. I went over reports, watched TV and went to sleep.” She drank her coffee and looked at me with those deep, dark eyes. “I think I dreamed about you,” she said with a shy, blushing smile.
I blushed in response. “You dreamed about me? I dreamt about you on Monday night.”
“Only Monday night? What about last night?”
I didn’t have an answer that I could share. So I just smiled.
“Dan, I believe that you and I will become good friends,” she said. “I still remember my dream. Would you like to hear it?”
Every fiber of my body screamed yes! Then I looked at my watch. It was already 8:30. I needed to get to work.
“Maria, I need to ask you for a favor. Can you drive me to work today? I’m teaching at the Parklawn building in Rockville, just off the beltway, about a half-hour from here. And can you pick me up at noon and drive me to the Enterprise car rental office. It’s just a few blocks from here. I’ll buy you lunch, and we can talk about our dreams.”
“What happened to your taxi driver?”
“He’s sick today.”
Maria consulted her smartphone and then looked up with a quizzical smile. “I’ll do it if you agree to do a favor for me.”
“Anything, Maria. I’ll be happy to do anything.” My dirty mind began thinking of things I could do for her.
“Be careful, Dan, you don’t know me.” She looked up from her phone and stared at me the same way my wife would examine the qualities of a cantaloupe at the supermarket. I held my breath. “Anyway,” she continued, “my boss is hosting a dinner for clients tonight, and I don’t have a date. Will you come with me?” I remembered to breathe again.
“Yes, of course. Do I need to get dressed up?”
“What you’re wearing would be fine except — do you have a tie?”
“No, I stopped wearing one years ago.” She made a face registering her disappointment.
“That’s okay I guess. My boss will pick us up at seven.”
I gulped the last of my coffee. “I need to go back to my room for a moment to get my briefcase. Can we meet in ten minutes?”
I left her at the table checking emails. I scanned the other women in the dining room and concluded that I ate breakfast with the most beautiful one there.
Back in my room, I took a deep breath and pressed the blinking button on the hotel telephone. There were three messages, all from my wife. I called her cell phone, and she picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Beth, look, it’s a long story.”
“I don’t have time for a story. I’m on the way to the hospital with Amy.”
My world collapsed. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead and in my recently washed armpits. The large breakfast began to turn in my stomach.
“What happened? What’s wrong with Amy?”
“She went skateboarding yesterday afternoon. A boy bumped into her when she was using the half pipe. She fell hard on her arm. She was crying when she called me. Luckily I was nearby, shopping. I thought it was just a bruise, so I put ice on it and gave her a Tylenol, but she had a terrible night. She’s in lots of pain. This morning her arm is swollen to the size of a pumpkin. Why didn’t you call last night?”
“I left you a message. I had to fly a client to New Jersey. We got stuck at an airport because of the weather, and I didn’t get back until very late. Is Amy all right?”
“You and your fucking airplane! I don’t know if she’s all right. I’m pulling into the emergency entrance now.”
“Let me talk to Amy.”
“Forget it. We have to go. I’ll call you later.”
The phone went dead. My heart sank even lower.
***
Maria’s car slowed to a crawl as soon as we entered the beltway. “There must have been an accident,” she said. I paid little attention. I was thinking about my daughter. I remembered the pictures on Henry’s phone. One showed Beth with her cell phone to her ear. Another showed Beth at the skate park holding Amy’s arm as she got into the minivan.
“Are you going to be late?” Maria asked. “What time does your class start?”
“I’m already late, but that’s okay. My assistant is teaching this morning’s session.” Frankly, I didn’t give a damn. Why was I still working? I had just become a half-millionaire. Why don’t I just ditch it all and fly home?
Maria tuned the radio to a local station to get the traffic report. “We are just getting word about the accident on the northern beltway. There are reports of multiple injuries and one possible fatality. Only one lane of the beltway is open. Authorities advise commuters to use alternative routes.”
My wife called as we crept along.
“Well, she’s scheduled for surgery. She has a broken arm.” Beth paused for a moment and then continued with a sob in her voice. “The doctor says it’s a clean break, she’ll be okay. She’ll be in a cast for the rest of the summer — so much for swimming. Where are you? Why aren’t you teaching?”
“I’m on the Beltway trying to get to class. There was an accident, and all but one lane is blocked. Does the doctor think that there’ll be a problem with her arm after it heals?”
“No, he says that she’ll be fine. Dan, I had to write a check for the co-pay when we registered. It was for one-hundred-and-fifty dollars. Will it be OK?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I deposited my government check yesterday.” Meanwhile, I visualized the stacks of hundred hundred-dollar bills in my closet.
Just as Beth and I were saying goodbye, it was Maria’s turn to pass the wrecks. First, I saw the cement truck and then another car, both with minor dama
ge. Then I saw a black Cadillac. The whole front end was smashed in. The front door was missing, probably torn off the car by the firemens’ Jaws of Life tool.
It had to be Richard’s car. Even with the damage, I recognized the faded roof and the signature headlight held in place with duct tape. If there were any doubt, I saw the fresh scratches along its right side and the broken right side mirror.
A body lay on the road covered by a white sheet. The paramedics were getting ready to load it into an ambulance.
Maria noted my concern. “Dan, what’s wrong?
“The taxi driver you saw me with yesterday morning. That’s his car. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh, my God, so the body they’re loading right now . . .”
I couldn’t find my voice for a moment. “Yes, it must be him.”
“Dan, I’m so sorry. How well did you know him?”
“Not well. We just met this week. He’s the person I flew with to New Jersey last night. We had our ups and downs, but he always made me laugh. Most of the time I was laughing at myself.”
Why did I let him drive? He had lost so much blood. Now, what will I do? Before that moment, I had the fantasy that I would give a recovered Richard his bags, and he would give me a cashier’s check for six hundred thousand dollars. “Here you be, mon. Thanks for your good work. Goodbye and don’t worry so much.”
In that fantasy, I would pay off all the credit cards, buy Beth a new car, make substantial contributions to the girls’ college funds and invest the remainder into growth-oriented mutual funds. All those plans, hopes, and dreams vanished in that pile of twisted metal on the beltway. What do I do about the cocaine? And what about that car that saw us in New Jersey last night?
I realized that Richard, by dying, had forever inserted himself into my life.
When I finally got there, the class was already in session. I took a seat in the back of the room with the full intention of taking notes. But the room was warm. I was tired. My pen stopped moving. I drifted off thinking about my daughter, her broken arm, the white-sheet-covered body, the twisted metal on the highway, and the murders.
Flying Blind Page 6